


Data's Dating Service

by lori (zakhad)



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-17 10:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9318275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori
Summary: I get emails, I write stories. It's a thing I do.The challenge was to write a story about them using a dating app. Since the Enterprise isn't app based, Data writes an algorithm.This is actually conforming to the request as made, unlike Fifth Stage of Grief, which went off the rails pretty fast.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silverfairy22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverfairy22/gifts).



"Thanks for the help, Data," Mr. Crusher was saying, as Picard came out of the ready room.

"You are welcome, Wesley. I am glad that you found it useful." There was an unusual lilt to the android's voice.

And Will, who was in his seat looking intently at a padd, was working far too hard not to grin about something. He glanced at Picard. Rolled his eyes.

"Report, Number One," Picard said, taking his seat.

"We're on course, continuing at warp four, on time to rendezvous with the _Tiber_ as scheduled." And there came the grin. "And Mr. Data has completed a project."

Picard debated whether he wanted to know or not. He decided not -- glanced down at the small monitor on the arm of his chair, and then at the main viewscreen.

"I have completed an algorithm that will assist any member of the crew in identifying the person aboard the _Enterprise_ who is the most compatible with them," Data filled in helpfully. The pride in his accomplishment was evident.

"I sincerely hope that you have not wasted any time on duty on this project," Picard exclaimed.

The scolding in his tone was lost on the android, but Wesley winced a little. Then rebounded in Data's defense. "But sir, it's an amazing achievement -- there've been plenty of attempts at a dating program and none of them are as sophisticated as this one, the heuristic is so complex -- "

"Mr. Crusher," Picard snapped. The ensign spun to face forward, silent.

And the silence drew long, on the bridge, until Picard left it to the first officer and went to the gym.

 

* * *

 

 "There might be something to Data's program," Will said, at the tail end of an informal talk about morale. Which had been lagging lately. A long survey of a new sector had been more tedious for some than others -- astrometrics had been the most active department, while archeology, xenobiology and geology had all taken naps and taken up new hobbies. It had been four weeks since Data's project started to become more widely known.

"You mean that useless matchmaking algorithm? Are you serious?"

"Well... I tried it."

Picard stared at his first officer. Though he was sure his feelings on the matter were clear, Will kept going.

"I never thought I would say this, because she wasn't the one I thought I would get, but I really am enjoying Lieutenant-Commander Nielson's company."

Barbara Nielson? Picard frowned at that. Nielson of the annoying laugh and the shaggy eyebrows?

"I know -- that's what I thought. But she's different when you get to know her. And you know, Wesley's been seeing Darcy McCullough for five weeks now and -- "

"Dismissed, Commander."

Will smirked, and left the ready room.

Picard turned back to his monitor, thinking it must be time for new orders -- perhaps a battle with several Ferengi vessels? Dealing with a Klingon uprising? They were moving into the next star system, featuring a K type star with seventeen planets and two asteroid belts. None of the probes had returned data that indicated life forms present anywhere in the system. But no orders appeared -- the long list of message headers increased by one as he watched, and was blue, meaning not from Command, as he'd asked the computer to code all of those in red. There was something different about this new message.

He leaned in a little to see -- there should be a name in the Sender field. There wasn't one. Just a blank space. That was the difference.

Peculiar.

"Mr. Data, report to the ready room, please."

"On my way, sir." Data entered and came to attention in front of his desk, having been at ops. "Sir."

"How could it be that I have a message without a sender ID attached to it?"

Data smiled -- there really was no other way to describe the ghoulish grin politely -- and explained. "That would be a message from my algorithm, sir. It allows you to send a message anonymously. This circumvents the problem of having a small pool of possibilities where repeated attempts at a relationship would affect working relationships with other officers -- an anonymous method of sending messages to each other to determine interest by getting to know each other before meeting in person should decrease the likelihood of negative first encounters."

"I see. Well, as impressive as others have told me it is, I have no intention of using it. I am the captain and I must maintain a certain... decorum. So thank you, for letting me know, as now I will know to delete them unopened."

Data lost the smile. "You are welcome, sir." A pause. "I had actually hoped that you might try it, Captain. I find myself most curious to know if -- "

"You are dismissed, Mr. Data," Picard said with as little irritation as he could manage.

Once Data was gone, Picard stared at the blue header at the top of the list. In spite of the deep-seated sense of doom that arose, he opened it. Expecting the awkward, stilted 'hello stranger' missive that was no doubt waiting for him to delete it so he could kick himself in peace, he found himself in shock.

_You are not expecting this._

_You are sitting in your chair, wondering whether this message is from someone you know. You aren't sure whether to answer it. This is not exactly the kind of thing you do, ever, and so you have to wonder why someone else would write this, to someone they do not yet know._

_There are probably a dozen reasons why you believe no computer algorithm could ever make a match for you that would work._

_I agree with you. You're probably right -- it will probably never work. Then again... did the relationships in your past work any better, for not having been facilitated by a computer?_

_Perhaps it will work._

_Perhaps the chances are the same, whether you meet me for dinner on a holodeck after we exchange messages, or whether we already know each other, and you never answer this and we end up together anyway._

_Right?_

Picard tried to work out who it could be based on the word choice. But there were more than a thousand people aboard -- it could be anyone. Not Data, he reasoned, and definitely not Worf -- not Riker. Absolutely not Mr. Crusher.

He looked up and found that forty minutes had passed, as he sat there trying to pick apart the wording. Tempting to simply have Data tear apart the code and tell him who sent it. Well -- perhaps he'd intentionally written the code not to allow for that.

The feeling of doom returned as he composed an answer, against his better judgment. Answering didn't mean he would ever even know who it was. But it was a mystery. A puzzle, to tease out the person's identity without revealing his own.

_I was not expecting anything at all. Computers do not know enough about you to entice me to believe that I could trust their judgment.  
_

_A real relationship is as organic as the people who have it, and you cannot replicate it. I disagree -- the chances of a real match are present, but determined by the ineffable qualities of the people who make it._

He stared at the screen for a moment. Thought about his attempt to analyze word choices, and sighed, erasing the draft, starting over.

_Perhaps it will work. But the chances differ, based on the whim of those involved, and I haven't met you yet._

_What would make me want to?_

Better -- vague, at least, and short enough that hopefully he could escape analysis on the basis of vocabulary. He sent it and went back to the first one, to read it again.

Beverly?

 

* * *

 

 

Another day passed, and a response showed up as he was idly scrolling through reports from sciences, regarding the star and its planets.

_With an attitude like that, you'll never even know what you're missing._

_Do you get lonely some nights, when you're sitting in your quarters and thinking about your career? If you're like me, you do. I think about it a lot. Sometimes things happen to us in space that make me wonder why I joined Starfleet. The worst part is after._

_You find someone temporary once in a while. Don't you? Someone you can touch, who will touch you back. Touch your heart, no. But your skin. Your chest, your thighs, your sensitive and soft parts that hide under the uniform every day all day that no one ever sees. They expect us to be tough when that's what is needed. They expect us to do things we never dreamed of doing. They put us back together after we're damaged, they put us back in service, but they don't provide the things we need. They don't give us something that will touch us. They don't feed our hearts._

_Some of us go through our lives letting our bodies be their tools. And it becomes obvious that there is a need that is never met. The temporary sometimes helps. For a minute. But I long for more. Do you know what it's like to think you find what you need and lose it?_

Picard stared at that for a long, long time.

Who the hell was this? That wasn't what he would have expected from Beverly. He supposed that it might be, still, because she too would be attempting to hide behind different diction. At least at first.

He found himself actually responding to it, thinking about the things said, memories of love lost and opportunities he had spurned in the name of career.

He composed a response.

_You know these things are common experiences for Starfleet officers -- this is hardly even a guess._

_I do wish for more, but it's hardly realistic to expect it, isn't it?_

_And there are those, of course, who find the things they are searching for. The romance dies, and they settle into domestic bliss. And then they have children. On a starship. Hardly a safe place for that, but they do it, and sometimes that becomes the regret._

_Fantasies are hardly what I find enticing. Neither is substituting one regret for another._

"Computer, play Concerto for Two Violins in D minor, composed by Bach."

As it started to play, he replicated some tea. When he returned with the steaming cup of Earl Grey, another message had appeared -- that was fast. So someone who was not currently involved in the survey -- that eliminated the entire sciences division, people currently on the bridge or in engineering, and all of sickbay' staff. Beverly was doing a complete cleanout -- all her staff were moving things around, running a localized baryon sweep using handheld units to completely sterilize everything from the biobeds to the nooks and crannies in the cabinets, to the full inventory of instruments and devices.

That was a relief, actually. It meant not turning her away. He enjoyed having that friendship as it was, after all that had gone before. And then he shook himself -- what a fool he was, thinking he could simply treat this as a puzzle to solve. Then he did another double-take and sighed, slumping back in his chair, closing his eyes. It was foolish to deny what was now obvious.

He was actually hoping this would work.

The rational thing to do was to stop it. Stop exchanging messages with this anonymous member of his crew. The smart thing. Not get the other person's hopes up any more than he already had.

He opened the message.

_When has any choice in anyone's life ever led to a certainty?_

_When has anyone in Starfleet not embraced risk, simply by signing up for it?_

_It's likely that the majority of us signed up because we enjoy risk taking._

_The certainty in life -- regret, yes. Regret is a certainty. We second-guess ourselves constantly. I gave that up a long time ago. My regrets included not taking chances. Choosing the safe option._

_Are you really a safe person? I understand that, if you are. Playing it safe can keep us alive. Unfortunately, it can also leave us dead to possibilities that can lead to feeling more alive than we've ever been._

"Well, you're not helping at all, are you?" he said to the screen. With a smirk, he sent an answer.

_I am keeping you safe. I am not a safe person._

_This will be my last message._

He actually spent a few moments feeling disappointment. Then turned to look out the viewport at the star, hovering in the black of night. There was a planet below, glowing green and blue and white, and he watched the white, clouds in the atmosphere, move slowly across the continents between.

When he came back from his wandering in thought, as the concerto ended, he turned to sit once more and noticed a response.

Without hesitation he deleted it.

Half an hour later, another one showed up. After he deleted that one unopened as well, he returned to the reports. Half an hour later a third arrived, and he stared at the anonymous header for a minute before deleting that one as well. As he ate an uninspiring lunch a fourth response arrived.

"Damn you," he blurted, opening the message.

_I am not a safe person either._

He laughed at it, deleted it, left the ready room, left the bridge, went to his quarters and put all his attention on reading a memoir he'd been wanting to read for a while.

 

* * *

 

A full day passed. He arrived on the bridge the following morning and after reviewing the logs from the night watch, checking on the progress of the survey and determining there was nothing worthy of his intervention, Picard settled in the ready room and looked again for messages -- he told himself he would clean out his inbox, look for new orders, but he had to admit to himself that there was still a little shred of hope there.

And there it was.

When he opened the message he held his breath, he noticed, and then deliberately exhaled, inhaled, before reading the words there.

_I admit that I am more than curious about you. I appreciate your concern for my welfare, but it is unwarranted. We're big boys and girls, aren't we? We meet, we decide, we walk away from the possibility and life goes back to the way it was before. Or we don't. It's not so life-changing to test the possibility, is it?  
_

He exhaled and put both hands on his head -- what the hell was this woman doing?

Shutting off the screen, he left the bridge, again, for the holodeck. Riding through the Scottish highlands helped alleviate the urge to respond. When he approached his quarters he found himself facing the counselor in the corridor, as she was coming from the other direction. Her quarters were four doors distant from his.

"Good afternoon," he exclaimed. She was busy, he knew -- she'd met with him yesterday, to turn over completed performance reviews for the quarter. She had mentioned being inundated with requests for appointments.

"Hello, Captain." She smiled at him, clearly relaxed and happy as she usually seemed whenever they were not in the midst of stressful and dangerous doings. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, why?"

"There have been a few times over the past few days that I've sensed frustration from you. It's hardly the kind of mission for that. Most of those involved in the survey are busy but calm. Those of us who are not... well, it's been interesting, since Data's algorithm started to circulate."

"Good god," he exclaimed, frustrated. "I should have ordered him to delete it."

She gave him That Look -- he shook his head. Of course she would want him to elaborate.

"It's a -- " But it wasn't a waste of resources. It wasn't infringing on anyone's rights, or causing real problems. People would get together and split up as they would, on a starship -- their personal lives were their own. That they were using some alternate method to go about it shouldn't matter to him.

"It offends you. The idea of using a computer to match yourself with someone else." Her amusement wasn't like Will's; she seemed to also be sad, perhaps, or weary. Or perhaps she was reflecting his own feelings back at him. "Why does this annoy you?"

"Someone is sending me messages."

She blinked. "You're annoyed that the algorithm matched you to someone who is using it. Did you tell them you didn't want to participate, then?"

He turned, to head into his quarters. "Whoever it is does not give up easily."

"Have you figured out who it is yet?"

He stopped in the middle of the room, turned around to look at her -- she'd followed him in just far enough that the door would close behind her. "Why would I care to do that?"

She smiled at that. "Because it's what you always do, solve the mystery. I would suspect it presents you with quite the temptation, some intrigue for you to research and untangle the enigma of who an algorithm would match you with. The problem would be finding out she's an ensign, or someone you've never met before."

"You think the algorithm doesn't take rank into account?"

Deanna crossed her arms, at that. "I don't know. I did ask Data about how he programmed it -- what I could understand of his explanation told me that he is using the recorder data to inform the algorithm. Our Starfleet records are also in there. I didn't think to ask about specifics like that."

"Recorder data?" he exclaimed, somewhat perturbed by that. The recorders in the critical areas of the ship -- engineering, the bridge, the battle bridge, all the hubs of the departments -- where the decisions were made and the action tended to be, fed that information into protected storage to be accessed only when needed, in the course of court-martials or investigations, and only by specific personnel.

"It's not data revealed to the people using the program. The algorithm is based in his own subroutines, that he uses to attempt to understand others. It uses the data from the recorders to analyze the behavior of the crew, rather than using a simple bio and feedback from the users to make matches. I believe he began the project originally as an attempt to improve those subroutines, to help him develop his own personality. Geordi commented that it sounded like something that would make a good dating program -- of course he had to explain what that was, and the next thing he knew Data had it ready to roll out. Wes volunteered to use it first. Try it out." Deanna spread her hands and smirked. "It appears to have done well by him. Darcy keeps him smiling."

"Have you used the algorithm yourself?"

She shrugged. "I admit curiosity led me to bring it up and fill out the consent form, and let it match me with someone. The percentage it gave me for likelihood of the fitness of my match as a life partner was quite high. I tried to guess myself who it could be. I have to admit that I'm losing confidence in my own intuition, as people are pairing off around me and proving me wrong again and again."

Picard thought about it. This was piquing his interest, certainly. "Would you like something?" Instead of changing out of his riding clothes, he went to the replicator and got himself coffee.

"The same, if you please."

When they were settled on the couch, coffee in hand, he found himself thinking.

"You're wondering if it's me?" she asked.

"The thought had occurred to me." They smiled at each other tentatively at the thought. "I've been ruling out people who are involved in duty related tasks, as the messages come in. I can't rule you out as I'm not privy to your schedule and so I'm not sure when you have time between clients, or when clients cancel and you're free."

"Have you considered simply telling her you're the captain, this mystery person who won't leave you alone? Surely she would recognize the impossibility of it then."

He snorted at the thought. "You're right. That would put an end to it."

"You don't want to, though. You want to play it out. You like the intrigue."

"Well, isn't that what drives the romantic relationship along, in the beginning? You're excited about possibilities. You have a new person you're fascinated by, and getting to know them is part of the fun. I watched Jack Crusher do that, I was at their wedding, and then they had Wesley -- being stationed in different places was difficult but they made it work. It isn't so exciting any more, when you know someone well, but it seemed to be a rewarding enough partnership in other aspects."

Deanna studied him, with a curious look and a head tilt. "Maybe you shouldn't end it the way you intend."

He regarded her with some surprise, gave that a little thought. "You think I should see it as a possibility."

"Maybe it isn't just curiosity that makes you want to keep this going, see it through to meeting her?" She raised her coffee to her lips. Sipped. "You could see if it might be possible."

He gestured as if throwing the idea away. "I cannot buy into the thought of letting a computer make that decision on my behalf."

"That wasn't Data's goal. He knows that this isn't something that will necessarily end in matrimony for everyone -- all the usual variables apply, of course. Not everyone is getting together, either. Beverly's match didn't work out."

"Somehow I didn't think she would bother with it."

Deanna had a slight frown, a chastising look.

"All right," he exclaimed. "Yes, it was a lie. I initially thought... but it can't be her. I ruled her out fairly quickly, and also you're saying she already met with her match, and it didn't work."

"It didn't get past the first meeting. She was afraid, and so she left him sitting there in Ten Forward. The method was what started her anxiety, I think -- she's doubting that it would really work."

He felt sympathy for his friend, but wasn't surprised. Beverly had been devastated by the death of her husband. That she was continuing to go back and forth about relationships over the years wasn't surprising. He turned from thoughts of her, back to the issue of his mysterious match. "Have you met with your match? Sent him any messages?"

"I haven't met him. I sent a few messages, got a few responses. I'm not sure if I really want to go through with it -- like you, I've ruled out quite a few people. I know it's not Worf, or Data himself."

"Are you going to reveal who you are?"

Deanna gazed at him with one of her more opaque expressions -- thoughtful, perhaps calculating. "Probably. I'm not caring for the anonymity of the software. I know Data intended for that to be used to exchange information safely, prior to establishing contact, but I don't think I like it."

"You don't like mystery?"

She smiled a little, at that. "If I'm to take the intent of the algorithm seriously, and approach the match from the perspective of someone who actually wants a relationship -- intimacy is knowing someone for who they are."

"And the sooner you do that, the less like a tease it all feels?"

Deanna leaned to set the mug on the table. A tone sounded -- she sighed, and stood up. "That's the computer giving me a ten minute warning. I have a client to meet with. See you later?"

"Of course."

He watched her leave, and thought about his match -- and realized he should have pressed her more, to rule her out. He didn't think it was her, probably why it hadn't occurred to him to push for answers, but it would have been one less possibility.

But she was correct. The longer the mystery endured, the more he might be setting himself up for disappointment. As well as the other person -- age was another thing that Data perhaps had not factored in, and some nineteen-year-old ensign would hardly want anything to do with a crusty old man like him.

He went to his desk and brought up his inbox, and there was the last message. He replied to it -- debated not sending anything at all. Decided not to play games any longer. It was one thing to play around with a person who agreed upon the rules of the game. Another to string along an unsuspecting participant. She started it, true, but he had to end it.

_You're right. We should talk, in person. Meet me --_

He thought about that for a minute. They were adults, she had that right. But he didn't feel a public confrontation was helpful. Quarters were right out. A holodeck?

_Meet me on holodeck four at nineteen hundred hours._

He sat for a few minutes, and just as he started to move away from his desk to change back into his uniform, the response came.

_I can't wait to meet you._

 

* * *

 

 

"Hello, Captain," Data exclaimed, as he left the lift -- Data and Geordi were in the corridor outside holodeck three, and both had looked up from the computer console -- they were in costume, Sherlock and Holmes, about to go in.

"Good evening." Picard continued past them. He wasn't in costume, but had left the uniforms in the closet, opted for civilian clothing. Gray sweater, darker gray pants, nondescript but not flaunting his rank. He had almost sent another message simply outing himself, to give the match that much more of a choice. But now he almost felt as though he had to apologize, and that was something best done face to face.

The choice of program was difficult as well, but ultimately he went with San Francisco -- Golden Gate Park, specifically. He walked to the bench facing the Arboretum, on a direct path in from the holodeck door. He sat down and watched some birds go by -- a hummingbird buzzed down to hover over some tulips. There were no people in the program, by his request.

It was well after the appointed time when the door finally opened. Counselor Troi came in, with a sympathetic, apologetic expression. He stared up at her as she came to a halt to stand at the end of the bench.

"Are you here to help me get over the fact that she didn't show up?"

Troi came around to sit on his right, on the edge of the bench. "It could have been that you were extremely disappointed in who it turned out to be. I can sense your disappointment from down the corridor."

He sighed, and stared at the clear transaluminum dome over the arboretum. "We could have walked in the gardens, talked. Tried to understand why the algorithm thought we were so well suited to each other. We could have been just good friends, or soul mates. But I'll never know now."

"You can take me for a walk instead, if you like."

He turned his head to look at her, sitting there with a mysterious little smile that said she was up to something. "I can?"

"I should warn you that I'm not a safe -- "

"Person, yes," he finished with a relieved smile. "So it _was_ you. You knew it was me -- when did you figure it out?"

"On my way in. I sensed you were in here, as I approached. I spent some time thinking before I came in, which is why I was late."

"But you came in."

"I did. Because I think you're cute," she said, grinning.

He rolled his eyes -- he knew what she could be like, how she could tease. She usually didn't turn her sense of humor on him. "Cute."

"Not really. But saying what I really think is a little more than I'd like to do, on a first date."

"So when you said the algorithm gave you a high compatibility rating for your match, how high was it?"

She folded her hands in her lap and looked down. "It was ninety two percent."

"Oh," he said after a few moments of stunned staring.

"That would be why I was a little tenacious about messaging," she confessed. "It was higher than what Will got, for Barbara. It's been more than a month. People are having good results with the algorithm. I was as doubtful as you were, in the beginning, but it -- I think it's frightening how well it's worked, actually."

"I suppose I should brace myself for a long series of wedding ceremonies?"

"I don't know about that. Perhaps we should leave that to itself, and talk about other things?"

Picard studied her -- she couldn't seem to look at him, and he noticed she was trying to relax but had her hands clenched around each other tightly. "I was afraid you would be some young girl fresh out of the Academy. I had the speech all ready to go, about not relying on computers in matters of the heart."

"So what speech do I get for being an old crone?"

He glared at her for that. Noticed she was still tense, for all she'd managed to sound somewhat like herself. "What do we really want to do with this?"

"I decided that I would leave that up to you, because I'm interested in trying."

Picard ran his hands down his face and stood up, paced a little on the pavement. "What if I don't feel I have enough information to make a decision?"

"What kind of decision are you trying to make? Are you trying to decide if you want to take a walk with me, or marry me?"

He turned to face her. She raised her head and gave him the look she'd given him long ago, when he'd approached her about Nella. The sort of look that told him she took him seriously, but thought he might be taking himself a little more seriously than he needed to.

"You were the one who said that decisions regarding matters of the heart weren't something you can determine with a computer. What kind of information are you looking for?"

He grinned and held out a hand to her. "I suppose the kind of information one obtains the old fashioned way."

Deanna reached as she stood, took his hand, and moved away toward the arboretum with him. As they reached the broad steps it occurred to him that this was a better situation than he had expected. He hesitated on the top step and turned to her.

"You're happy?" she asked.

"That would be the information I needed."

She nodded. "I'm glad. I was getting a little tired of spending my time in Ten Forward, watching other couples connect and be happy."

"I'm glad that I chose a holodeck, then. Are you saying there have been so many of them?"

"And some of them have been so unexpected," Deanna exclaimed. She let go of his hand as they went in the door, but walked close at his side, closer than usual. "I had no idea that you were my match. When I realized it was you, I was relieved."

"Not unlike how I felt."

"I need to thank Data. I wouldn't have known you were open to this, if he hadn't started a dating service."

Picard reached over to put his arm across her shoulders, as they strolled through the greenhouse full of exotic flowers. "It's probably going to fall by the wayside at some point, as fads do. Run its course."

"As some of the relationships will, no doubt."

"I would guess that some of them will continue, however. Particularly ones that start between close friends."

Deanna smiled, as she picked one of the large red flowers from a bush and twirled it as they wandered. "I think you're right. Have you given any more thought to taking some leave, by the way?"

"You know how leave tends to go for me."

"Well. Perhaps that's because you go by yourself. You get bored, you get into trouble."

"So the strategy is to take someone along to keep me busy?"

She gave him a sly grin. "It's worth a try."

"Hm. I like the way you think."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Deanna went to Ten Forward with the padd, to wait for Jean-Luc. She'd been in and out of the lounge numerous times over the weeks, as always, but since the algorithm became popular it was busier than ever, full of couples. It had been almost ten weeks now. She had in hand the statistics that Data had generated right before he had shut it down for good.

Beverly was the only one sitting alone, in the whole place. Deanna went to sit down with her friend, who was feeling conflicted as she watched couples... well, coupling, so to speak. Chatting and laughing together over drinks. Beverly glanced up with a fair attempt at a smile.

"How are you?"

"I'm okay. I'm just thinking, again," Beverly said. "How's it going?"

"Well enough that he's meeting me here."

Beverly smirked at that. "He must be feeling confident if he's already willing to appear in public with you. Looks like the algorithm works better than I thought, if it did so well by you."

"It's not too late, you know," Deanna said softly, leaning a little to make herself heard under the noise of happy people. "You could contact your match again. Tell him you had cold feet and want to meet him."

Beverly shrugged and sadly cast down her gaze. "The program's shut down. I never got his name. I should have exchanged names but I was afraid if I did that before we met I would get cold feet. Guess that tactic wasn't enough."

"Charles Fineman. He's a lieutenant in operations, he sat over there looking at the stars for half an hour before he left. He looked sad. He's a good man, very solid and reliable and funny. You should call him."

"I'd be annoyed that you were spying on me if it didn't help," she said, abashed. Then she sobered again. "What if he already rematched with someone? Some people ran it twice when the first one didn't work out."

"Beverly, it never hurts to ask. Or to apologize for not showing up?" She knew the doctor felt bad about that.

"All right, I'll do that, at least. Can't be a coward forever. If Jean-Luc can overcome his phobia so can I."

Deanna was distracted from responding to that by a sudden thunder of footsteps -- Reg Barclay was storming toward the door, at his high anxiety half-run. "Oh, dear."

"He's okay, I hope."

"I'm thinking that he would be the one person who ran the algorithm four times," Deanna murmured. "Poor Reg. He has such a reputation now, no one he's been matched with has given him the benefit of the doubt."

"I guess you were right, then, when you told Data making it available to everyone was a bad idea," Beverly said ruefully, holding up a hand to get Guinan's attention as she went by. She requested a refill and Guinan took away her empty glass. Beverly smoothed her hair back behind her ear and sighed. "You've been busier than ever, you said."

"It sounds like such a great thing, having an accurate match program. I think the people who are a couple of deviations from the mean in some respects disagree. And then there was the problem of thinking that they knew who they would be matched with and finding out that person they so firmly believed they would be matched with had been paired with someone else. I've had to talk two people down from plans to confront their 'ideal' person and confess their undying love. One of them wanted to approach the captain."

Beverly covered her grin with her hand and her eyes gleamed. "You should have sold tickets!"

Deanna's look of disapproval had seen a lot of use lately, and it worked on Beverly as well as ever. "The algorithm empowered people to do things that they were hesitant to do before, by legitimizing those feelings that had been left latent and in check -- it had wonderful results for many people, including you, despite your hesitation. But people like Reg struggle already, and this raised such hope for him that it would help him make a connection that he's been so desperate to make. I tried to tell him that it wasn't going to fix the real issues he has."

"You're saying that Data shouldn't have done it. And you have job security."

"I think a pool of a thousand people is too small to have good results for everyone. That's what I told Data, anyway. In reality, there are no solutions that work for every person."

The captain came in -- Deanna watched him work toward them, moving around tables and chairs and people, and glanced around the room as he took one of the chairs at their table for four, sitting across from Deanna at Beverly's left. Guinan came by with Beverly's drink, and took his order. He didn't quite look at Deanna at first -- he was feeling exposed.

"If you're interested, I have some statistics. Data shut down the dating service today," Deanna said.

That got him to look at her. "Really?"

Deanna waved the padd and read from it. "Eight hundred fifteen people tried to use the program to match -- fifty-eight of those matched with people who didn't use the software, the rest were connected with each other. Data sent a brief post-use survey to each user and was able to track outcomes anonymously, for statistical purposes. Two hundred forty-seven people report they did not ultimately have a match, but made a good friend. One hundred fifty-one people said they had a very good result, feel they have a solid probability of having found a mate. Another three hundred thirty-two people are reserving judgment and continuing in an intimate relationship with the person they were matched with. Fifty-four people reached this conclusion after using the program twice. Twenty-four have run it three times. One ran it four times. Eighty-five people failed to make a match at all, for a lot of different reasons, second thoughts about the other person, about the impact on their own careers, about the validity of the match, two were already married and looking for something better then changed their minds."

"That's a lot of people. I suppose being on a very long, very boring assignment had a lot to do with the level of participation. What is Data going to do with the program now?" Jean-Luc asked, smiling up at Guinan as she put a glass of beer in front of him.

"He should delete it," Guinan said as she turned and headed back to the bar.

"I recommended that he write a paper and mothball the program," Deanna said.

"Turning it loose on the Federation could have serious repercussions, I suppose," Jean-Luc commented. He watched a couple stagger by them, hanging on each other and laughing.

"No, it just wouldn't work. The only reason it worked here was the computer's ability to use information it recorded in specific areas of the ship. Further study of the statistics reveals that crew who rarely visit areas of the ship that are under constant surveillance fared poorly in the match process. There wasn't enough information to help them."

Jean-Luc sat for a few minutes looking at the table, at his beer, thinking about something that amused him.

"It must give you a great deal of confidence in your own match, since you spend so much time on the bridge," Beverly said with a lopsided grin.

"In fact, the computer gave us the highest percentage of compatibility of any of the matches," Deanna said, placing the padd on the table. "The second highest rating went to another couple who already spent most of their time together." She gestured at Geordi and Data, sitting at a table near the viewports, each holding a padd and discussing something -- Geordi was trying to make a point, from the way he waved his hand.

"What about Wesley?" Beverly asked. "Or me? I wasn't the one who initiated the match so I didn't get to see numbers."

"You were given eight-five percent. I think Charles has been on gamma shift ops numerous times? Wes had a lower rating, but Darcy doesn't spend a lot of time on the bridge or in engineering. She's often assigned to the labs."

Beverly pursed her lips and thought about it for just a few seconds. "Well, I think I'm going -- I just remembered something I have to do."

"Say hi to Charles for me," Deanna said with a grin.

"Yenta," Beverly shot back with a bemused smile. She made her way toward the exit. Deanna turned to Jean-Luc.

"I have to revise Data's statistics, she's giving it another shot," Deanna explained. "Are you glad the experiment is done?"

"Oh, yes. Hoping that things return to normal soon -- I'm being called upon to perform three wedding ceremonies, so far." He drank some of his beer, as another couple reeled by together headed for the door.

"Well, look who it is," came Will's voice, and Deanna turned and looked up at him -- he was with Barbara, of course.

"Hi," Deanna said with a warm smile. "It's very busy tonight, isn't it? Want to sit down?" She left her chair, sliding over to the empty on on Jean-Luc's left. Will came around to step over the back of the chair and sit on Jean-Luc's right, and Barbara sat in the last chair. Both of them were in uniform, as was Jean-Luc; Deanna had put on a soft burgundy dress, with a shorter skirt and lower neckline than the dresses she wore during the day when not in uniform. She crossed her legs, didn't scoot in closer to the table, and smiled at Barbara as she twined her finger in the gold chains that hung down her chest idly. Barbara Nielson had changed -- she'd been a career officer who indulged no whim, ignored anything that did nothing to advance her rank or increase her score on performance reviews. Her smiles on duty were all measured and careful, her demeanor cultivated and professional. Now she had a broad smile and a brighter shade of lipstick.

"Thank you, by the way, again," Barbara exclaimed. She leaned and gave Deanna's arm a squeeze. "You were right -- I really enjoyed the salon. I'm sorry I fought it for so long, I should have taken the time to do it a long time ago."

"I like what they did for your hair," Deanna said. Her long brown hair had been lackluster, worn tied back in a simple ponytail; Mr. Mott had cut and styled it, and now she wore it in a sleek, shorter style, with length but swept back in French braids. And he'd done her brows. "I almost wish I could get mine to behave that well."

Barbara laughed, and shook her head in amused dismay. "You have to be kidding, right?"

Deanna picked up a handful of the corkscrew curls falling down her right shoulder. "I may have him shave it all off next time. It's heavy. Gives me headaches if I wear it down."

"Exactly," Jean-Luc said unexpectedly. "Just what I keep telling Mr. Mott."

Barbara laughed in delight, and Will just laughed -- disbelieving, and caught off guard, and looking at Deanna with incredulous wide eyes. Deanna smiled fondly at Jean-Luc. "You're in a good mood tonight."

"I have absolutely no reason for it. Completely random," he exclaimed, with a shrug. His eyes bounced from her face, to her chest, to her face, and he smiled.

"So what were you talking about so seriously, before?" Will killed what was left of the beer in the glass he'd been carrying and plunked the empty on the table.

"Statistics," Jean-Luc said.

"Good statistics?" Will prodded.

"We were talking about Data's dating service," Deanna said. "He shut it down today."

Will actually looked a bit sad about it. "He said you disapproved."

Deanna's smile thinned somewhat. "What I told Data, when he solicited my assistance at the beginning of all this, was that he would be creating something that had no real world application and would not suit the needs of everyone aboard, and might have some detrimental effects for some. I was attempting to help him recognize the ramifications of turning such a thing loose on his crewmates."

Will grinned at Barbara before answering. "I know not everyone had the best results but it did well enough by most of us. Present company included."

"Twenty-five people had to run the match process more than once, to discover that a thousand people wasn't a big enough pool of candidates in which to find a compatible person. When everyone in the pool is also in Starfleet and ostensibly has at least that much in common, it's tough to tell them that it's just life, you don't always get what you want -- the statistics for them are validating what they feel, not the reassurances from the rest of us. I have the feeling I'll be quite busy for a while."

Will lost most of his good mood, making her regret the explanation. Almost. But he was the first officer, and he needed to know, since he would likely see some of the consequences of this. "You're not going to tell me who?"

"I'm certain they'll make themselves known if they're struggling on duty, and you don't have to know if they don't struggle."

"She's protecting her clients," Will said to Barbara.

"Oh, I know. I used to be one of her clients. I know how it works."

"You and the rest of the crew, except for him," Jean-Luc said, pointing at Will.

Deanna leaned forward, still playing with her gold chain idly. "No, there are plenty of people who only talk to me for performance reviews. But I don't see good friends, or supervisors. And now I don't see you -- not that I have for a long while anyway. You're fixed, after all."

Jean-Luc laughed at it. Fortunately he was paying no attention, or he might have seen heads turning. "The bias is clear, and skewed as hell," he said, making her laugh as well.

Deanna sipped her drink and lounged -- it was different in the evening, in Ten Forward, after hours. She was out of uniform, after all. Also she felt good -- she knew what would come next, after they had chatted with Will and Barbara. Something that made her not care, that people were staring at her -- her attention was on him, and their attention was on her and noticing that.

Will was looking at her with that smirk that made her wish he didn't know her so well. But at least he had enough respect for the captain not to say what he was probably thinking. He was fine with teasing him directly, though. "How long will it take you to get him in a hot spring?"

"What?" On a relative scale of mild dismay to outrage, Jean-Luc's ire hit about a two -- he fake-scowled at her. It was hard for him to get much higher considering how he'd enjoyed the holodeck hot springs they'd visited last week.

"He teases harder if he thinks he's right. You told him we were going on leave in a few weeks, didn't you?"

"There are hot springs on Risa?" Jean-Luc knew there were, quite well -- the bungalow he'd reserved had been selected because there was a private hot spring attached to it. He kept scowling. "Are you trying to trick me?"

"Not at all. You can sit in a chair and read, I'll sit in the hot spring," she said, smiling serenely. She met Will's gaze. "We do that a lot. He reads, I watch."

"Uh huh," Will said, giving Barbara a conspiratorial look. "We read a lot too."

"All this talk about reading reminds me -- I was in the middle of a good book, I think I'd like to go finish it. Want to watch?"

Deanna rolled her eyes. "You have a good time, we're going to finish The Scarlet Letter."

"Pickwick Papers," Jean-Luc corrected, putting the empty glass on the table as he rose.

"Are we sure it wasn't Hard Times?" Deanna tugged her skirt down a little and picked up her padd as she stepped away from the chair. "It's strange, you only get a chapter or so, sometimes just a couple of pages done per night?"

"I've always believed in taking my time to fully understand literature. Good night," Jean-Luc said, barely keeping himself from throwing rank out in what had been a fairly relaxed conversation.

Deanna followed him out of Ten Forward, quite aware of all the attention she was getting, and glided up alongside as they walked together toward the lift.

"You enjoy showing off," Jean-Luc said.

"Occasionally. Not so often when we're aboard the ship. I know this isn't exactly what you're used to seeing me wear...."

He gave her a look up and down, as they entered the lift. "Was I complaining?"

She hummed a little, smirking. "I wouldn't call your reaction a complaint, no."

"So did you wear that for me, or for the audience in Ten Forward?"

"I wore it for you." She chewed her lower lip briefly. "You're sensitive about your reputation with the crew. I thought I would give them another reason to admire you."

His chin dropped. His right eyebrow rose slightly.

Deanna glanced at the panel. "Computer, deck eight."

"I didn't know," he said finally.

"Didn't know what?"

Jean-Luc's smile turned mischievous, something she was certain hardly anyone ever saw. And appreciative of her in a way she knew no one else aboard would ever see. "That Data's algorithm was in error. I think it underestimated how compatible we are."

"What a sweet thing to say," she murmured, as he approached and leaned in until he was pressing her against the wall of the lift. "You said you were going to be circumspect, when we're outside quarters."

"Not a safe person," he mumbled against her neck, and nipped her.

"Hold turbolift," she managed to warble, her voice rising an octave as he nibbled up her throat, holding her head in his hands as he started to kiss her. The padd fell to the floor.

She really had to thank Data. Perhaps he and Geordi would like an all-expenses-paid vacation on Risa.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The requested chapter o' smut and lurv.

The bungalow had no replicator. Jean-Luc studied the brochure he'd downloaded into the padd again.

"I could have sworn it said -- "

"The resort is just down the beach," Deanna chided, returning from the bathroom. "Won't it be pleasant to take walks down to the restaurant for dinner? They'll also deliver to us any time, and there's a terminal. Come look at the rest of it."

He put the padd on the half-sized table, just big enough for two place settings, and turned as he stood up -- and froze in place. He'd packed civilian clothing, had changed into shorts and a loose shirt that was enough to keep the sun from burning his shoulders and back. She, on the other hand, wore a sheer wraparound in silver, shimmering in the abundant sunlight streaming in the open sliding door and the windows, and some flat-soled sandals.

"Come on, have a look around. There's drinks, over in the corner," she waved a silver-green fingernail toward the corner to the left of the open door where a small bar had been placed, "and plenty of towels. Because we have a lovely jetted tub in the bathroom, and then the hot spring outside. And of course -- " She gestured at the large bed, covered with a bright red blanket and gilded pillows.

"Maybe we should start with a drink. Take them out to the hot spring."

She smiled at that. "That sounds perfect."

The options at the bar were of course limited, but there was a padd with recipes for the supplies provided. She teased him about adding too much rum, standing so close that her wrap brushed his arm. He watched her put together a Tumerian Rum Bomb, which she had chosen based on how she thought the ingredients would taste together.

"I was thinking about what we discussed, about morale," he said as he followed her outside. The wooden deck had an awning and two lounge chairs, facing the ocean. Deanna crossed the deck and went down a couple steps to the path that led off to the right, through a head-height wall of foliage.

"Unless you're intending to talk about your own morale I'm not interested," she said over her shoulder.

"Well, my morale is improving by leaps and bounds," he said as he watched her walk ahead of him. The wrap barely covered her buttocks. She giggled, shot him a coy look, and it only reminded him that she was paying attention -- he had realized within the first couple weeks of this relationship that she had never revealed everything she sensed, at least not publicly. It was an anxiety-provoking few weeks, for him. But his friendship with her had been solid enough to overcome his moments of doubt. She had in turn relaxed and started to react to him whether he said anything or simply changed mood states.

The hot spring was more than a hole in the ground -- the water looked clean, bubbling up into what looked like a stone basin but couldn't be, as it had been shaped into contoured seats for two people. When he kicked off the shoes he wore, the material felt synthetic to the bottoms of his feet. They put the drinks near the edge of the pool. He dropped his shirt over the back of the chair placed on the deck as she dropped her wrap there, and then all the muscles in his body seized at the sight of her. All the right curves, and good muscle tone -- her nipples were pinkish and hardening as the slight breeze made it chilly. He found himself hesitant to do as he wanted, to touch her, as he'd been all along. Sometimes he lunged into a kiss with abandon; it had to be a strong impulse to overcome his habitual restraint. If she confronted him this way, with overt intention, it could petrify him.

Deanna stepped forward and leaned until her breasts brushed his chest. Put her arms over his shoulders, rubbing with her fingers, and he realized just how tense he was from the effort she had to put forth to massage those muscles.

"I think you'll relax, eventually. I know you've had defenses in place for years, like so many officers. Would it help if I tell you to touch me?"

He sighed, and leaned in to kiss her lips -- he had kissed her before, had done so early on and often since, and he could tell she felt the same as he. He had started to do more, to touch her breasts and remove clothing, and then there had been a red alert. Then the second attempt had been thwarted by an unexpected visit from Data, who had completely disrupted the mood; Deanna had gone on to her own quarters and then what he had anticipated would be a brief interruption with the android turned into a more complex conversation. Other interruptions had occurred, usually via comm channels -- he hadn't realized before just how many people he spoke to whenever they had a thought to address something, when he was ostensibly off duty. All the scolding she had done in the past about taking time off now seemed more valid than it had been back when Counselor Troi had been the only facet of her he saw. There had been three occasions so far, when they'd gotten past his anxiety and the interruptions. The sex had been satisfying but hadn't quite been what he had expected -- and then again, twice, someone had contacted him about some request or report, or to get clarification. Fortunately after sex and while they were lounging together in bed, but he'd then started to feel anxious in anticipation of being interrupted when he kissed her. 

That she was being incredibly understanding almost made it worse. She simply deferred, postponed, tried again.

"You're thinking too much, aren't you?"

"Does it help if I'm actually thinking about you?"

She stepped back and studied him with only a slightly less happy smile. "You aren't thinking the right things, about me. I'm hoping to change that."

"I suppose it will only help if I cooperate?"

Deanna took his hand and led him to the edge of the steaming water, and stepped down into it. He went in with her. It took a moment or two to adjust to the water temperature. As it had been on the holodeck, this spring was relaxing enough that he closed his eyes and did as she had suggested to him long ago, imagined floating on a cloud and far away from the ship and all the details of running it, imagined being quiet and free of the ground, as he actually floated a few inches off the bottom of the pool. It actually worked, thanks to the heat and the weightlessness.

A hand on his thigh grounded him again. And then she started to work with both hands to work the shorts off his hips, down his thighs, and he almost opened his eyes but stopped and let her do as she pleased. It would be better, he decided, to focus on how pleasant it was to be touched, at least for the moment.

Then her fingers wrapped around his penis, and all his attention went to that single body part -- tension was back and it was good. She moved, he heard the water lapping against her body and felt the slight current, and then she was sitting on his thighs, her weight mostly supported by the mineral water. Her lips pressed against his, and at once his arms sprang around her and her tongue found his, as she gave a slight shimmy and came to rest firmly on top of him, pressing his erection against his lower belly. And then her hips started to move, as she rubbed silky-soft folds along the sensitive shaft his own hips came up in shallow thrusts that he tried to control so as not to throw her off.

"You like it," she breathed, her words hot on the skin of his cheek. "What else would you like?"

The hesitance was back. He settled down in the seat, some of the sexual tension diminishing. But instead of backing off as she had done before, when he hesitated, she kissed him again. Her hands moved down his chest, until her thumbs covered his nipples, and then she started to rub both nipples in tandem, as she slid back and forth ever so slightly. Before he knew she was doing it, she rose slightly as she slid up and in a tip of the hips she had him inside her. He jerked his mouth away from hers out of reflex, gasping, almost convulsing at the sensation of being immersed in her.

Deanna wouldn't let him take her over on her back, pushed him back when he started to sit up, and moved her hips in a manner that must have been difficult to sustain, rising and falling as she twisted and tightened, but she kept it up -- and then she started to moan, and while his hips jerked upward erratically she shifted to a rapid back and forth movement. And then she let him push her on her back, tipping them both the other way while the water surged around them and slapped the edges. Something about the movement of the water added to the experience. 

He found himself groaning in unison with her, moving in with more force than before, and her reaction triggered another thrust -- her body stiffened and her hips rose to meet him each time, her heels planted wide. And she came, with a wail and a laugh, and the stimulation was too much for him. 

After a moment of feeling wrung out and limp, he levered himself back from her and collapsed in his original spot, panting, starting to come down from it. The water was now too hot. He took advantage of the contoured back rest to shove himself partially out of the spring, to recover.

The evil woman sat up, retrieved his drink -- miraculously intact even after water had surged around the base of both glasses -- and brought it to him, rubbing up against him once more. "You don't like talking during sex. Brings you out of the experience. At least until you have more experience."

"So you are assessing me?" He took the glass from her instead of letting her tip the rum-based concoction straight in. 

"We have a week here, so I am going to determine what makes you happy, without interruption. And then we're going to sort out how to have fewer interruptions once we're back on the ship, so I can make you happy more often." Deanna shoved off and floated backward, retrieved her own drink, settled opposite him in the hot spring. Which was, now that the activity had ceased, once more a tolerable temperature. Although he was sure he would have to get out soon, to avoid feeling waterlogged.

"Am I going to have anything left of me after you're done?" The drink was strangely refreshing; he didn't typically like the tropical sorts of mixed drinks, they were too sweet for his taste. But this was quite nice.

"I get to teach you what I like, too, you know." She sank a little, extended her leg, ran her big toe up the inside of his thigh. "Hands on can be the best way to teach."

"Hmmm," he said, taking another drink.

Another silent rest, in the water together and peaceful, and then she put her glass aside with a light clink. He opened his eyes to see her rising from the water like Aphrodite, water streaming from her body as she slowly ascended the steps on the left side of the pool. She walked around to the break in the foliage and turned to look at him with an enigmatic smile. She seemed to be waiting for him.

So he got out as well, and approached her. But instead of leading him back to the bungalow, the minute the trail took a left turn toward their rental she broke into a run and charged down the beach sand toward the ocean. It surprised him, but before his rational mind could bother to wonder why, his body responded. He ran after her. There were several people about a quarter of a mile away, but he was focused on the woman in front of him -- she splashed out into a few feet of water and executed a shallow dive, and started to swim out over the gentle waves into deeper waters.

He followed suit and they swam onward, together, competing at first but then she flipped on her back and floated, so he did the same. He was the one to start back. She came with him, and he held out a hand to help her stand up in the surf. They walked together hand in hand, back up to the bungalow.

"I believe I will have another drink," Deanna said. "And then I will throw you on the floor and ravish you."

He stiffened, just a little. "Can I put down a few pillows?"

She laughed at it loudly, veered to bump shoulders with him, and darted ahead of him across the deck into the open door of the bungalow. He gave chase but didn't anticipate that she would be waiting there, just inside the door -- rather than dodge or run into her, he caught her up in his arms and ran at the bed, flinging both of them into the plush piles of pillows and layers of covers. She laughed again, joyously, and sprawled across him to kiss him.

It wasn't going to be a repeat of what they'd done in the spring, but she was right -- there was plenty to learn. He grabbed her left thigh, slipped his right hand down between them and past her thick curly pubic hair, and as his fingertip landed on her clit she cried out and twitched, almost banging her teeth against his. She writhed and parted her legs more, and when his fingers slid along those soft, wet folds of tissue, her hands gripped his arms as if she were afraid she might fall off. Experimenting with fingers led to more moans, and gasps. Having her trembling in his arms and then limp against him, breathing in his ear, kindled a deep sense of satisfaction he couldn't remember feeling before.

"I really don't want to roll around on the floor," he murmured at last.

She giggled, slid off him, leaving her arm draped across his chest and a leg slung over his. "We can do whatever you want. I love you, Jean-Luc."

It went through him like a slow, rolling wave of change. And then he smiled at the ceiling, at the stained glass in the center with sunlight glowing in the green, red and blue panes. The words caught in his throat. Rolling toward her, he shoved himself up on his elbow. She smiled up him, her hair a mess around her face. She looked nothing like Counselor Troi at the moment. She looked like someone he wanted to kiss again.

He touched her face - thumb and forefinger, as he leaned in to press his lips to hers. She sighed as he kissed her gently, pressed his lips against her temple, then pushed his arms around her, lifting her off the bed slightly.

"I love you, Deanna."

She shivered, and her hand came up to his head. Her palm was warm against the skin above his ear. She hummed a little, pressed her face in until he felt her nose against his jaw. It was a new thing, to simply hold her this way. To feel warm air from her nostrils glide along his throat, and her ribs expanding against his chest.

He hadn't wanted to jump too far ahead. Hadn't thought about the future, on purpose, tried not to 'jinx' them, as Deanna put it. But now he was thinking about having her with him every night this way....

"I knew I would succeed in getting you to think about me in the right way," she whispered. "I just thought it would take a little while longer. But I appreciate that we'll have more time, enjoying this together."

He laughed, rolling them over until he was on top. "I'm deciding that we will need to thoroughly test your theory, that we'll enjoy an entire week of this."

"Hmmm," she said with a grin and happy, glittering eyes, "perhaps you should explain your methodology first."

"It would be easier to show you."

"Hm, yes," she murmured, shivering in anticipation. It made him glad that he'd packed a regenerator. "Make it show."

Jean-Luc let go, shoved away from her, holding his head in his hands while she laughed at him. And then he lunged at her, chased her across the bed and out the door, back to the hot spring. He lost the desire for revenge as he reached the edge of the tub, and started to feel a different kind altogether -- she was in the water looking up at him with adoring eyes, and he descended into the steaming spring with the sense of purpose that he'd once only felt about Starfleet.

Her smile then echoed the seriousness and the happiness he felt, and she stood up again, nodding. "Yes."

"We have a lot to talk about. When we get back. But I think -- "

That sly quality returned to the ends of her mouth. "You should stop thinking."

He nodded, and touched her breast. "Yes," he said, coming forward for another kiss.

 

 


End file.
